


Learning

by Sashimae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Josie's a good teacher, Smut, Third Time's the Charm, unsure Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashimae/pseuds/Sashimae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you wish to stop?” The words are quiet when Josephine pulls back, unassuming and free of judgement.</p><p>Riayl shakes her head, keenly aware of the heat that has flared up low in her abdomen from their gentle touches. “No. No, I don’t. I just…I don’t know what to do.” She isn’t sure what she had expected Josephine’s reaction to be, but the slow-blooming smile that curves her lips roguishly is not it.</p><p>“Then let me teach you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning

**Author's Note:**

> Riayl Lavellan is my favorite Inquisitor, a dual dagger rogue. There's a longer story about her still in progress, but then there was this challenge on the kmeme, and I couldn't say no...
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=55376639

It had been a nearly intolerable set of weeks as they waited for confirmation that Josephine’s engagement was well and truly broken, but finally, _finally_ , the letter arrived from the Otrantos, officially withdrawing their claim. Josephine immediately sent a messenger to find Riayl the moment the letter arrived at her desk, eager to share the news, and that is the end of work for the day.

They sit together on the sofa in Riayl’s quarters, in front of the crackling fire, Josephine leaning into Riayl’s embrace as their mouths meet, part, and meet again in heated passion – the first kisses they have been able to exchange since the whole affair began. The elf revels in the taste of her lover as their tongues tangle and dance; she has _missed_ being able to touch Josephine without reservation, missed being able to drink in her flavor and scent.

Her hands map Josephine’s body as they kiss, stroking up those characteristic golden silk ruffled sleeves, down the rougher blue brocade of her overcoat, until she feels the hem of the outfit beneath her fingers. She wouldn’t have dared before, but now, with Josephine clutching at her shoulder and waist, trying to meld their bodies, there is a surge of surety. Riayl lets her hands slip under the overcoat, then the golden blouse, until there is hot skin beneath her fingertips and Josephine gasps into her mouth at the touch. She breaks their kiss, trailing her lips over Josephine’s jaw as she settles her palms more firmly against the Antivan’s waist; she relishes the way the thin skin of her lover’s pulse point flutters under her mouth as she continues her path, and her own heart quivers in response. This is further than she has ever dared to go before.

Dare she try for more?

The sensation of Josephine’s breath ghosting over her ear as hands smooth down her back is enough to decide the matter, but when she tries to travel higher, her fingers encounter a barrier tight around Josephine’s waist. There is a huff of laughter against her neck as Riayl draws back to scowl at the offending item, but then Josephine’s lips are there to kiss the frown away as her hands guide Riayl’s away from her waist and up to her cinch; the elf feels supple leather and cool metal under her fingertips, just waiting to unbuckled, and swallows. “May I?”

Josephine draws back to catch her eyes, meeting the uncertainty there with her own quiet confidence as she nods. When Riayl’s normally deft digits fumble on the unfamiliar garment, Josephine guides her through releasing one belt, then the other, until the thick leather band falls away. Emboldened, Riayl lets her fingers graze against the buttons of Josephine’s overcoat and is gifted with a smile and a heated kiss in response. She manages to unbutton the brocade easily enough, but the silk blouse underneath is more of a trial. Riayl reluctantly breaks the kiss so she can see the tiny fasteners, feeling another laugh vibrate in Josephine’s chest as she fumbles at the top buttons; she watches hands turned a molten bronze by the firelight smoothly begin parting the fabric from the bottom until their hands meet in the middle, separating the last barrier between her touch and Josephine’s skin.

Josephine’s fingers yield to hers, allowing Riayl to push the brocade and silk off sloped shoulders so it pools behind her, a swirl of blue and gold that serves as a fitting backdrop for the beauty exposed to her eyes. She has to swallow once, twice, to force her heart out of her dry mouth at the sight. Never has she seen such an expanse of skin that she wished to touch, to worship; the feelings are unfamiliar, but their potency and desire is undeniable. Riayl lets her head fall forward, vallaslin-marked forehead coming to rest against Josephine’s collarbone and reveling in the warmth of the soft skin there pressed against her own as her hands return to Josephine’s waist, this time stroking up her sides and feeling the dips of her midriff giving way to the harder bumps of ribs thinly padded under the skin. She lets her fingers travel forward, briefly brushing against the cloth of Josephine’s breastband as she follows the curve of her ribcage until she reaches her love’s spine, _adoring_ the body she is mapping beneath her fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful.” She breathes the words on an exhalation, feels the shiver that travels through Josephine’s body; then there are hands on either side of her head, guiding her away from Josephine’s shoulder and cupping her face gently. Dark eyes search her expression for a moment, disappear as their mouths meet once again in a brief kiss, before Josephine pulls back with an impish grin.

“Let me return the favor.”

Josephine shifts their bodies until she is no longer leaning into Riayl, pressing on the elf’s shoulders to urge her against the back of the couch. Riayl complies, letting her weight rest against the sofa as Josephine rises to her knees and straddles her. Her breath catches at the movement, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on their new closeness; clever fingers are already under the hem of her tunic, tracing light, meandering patterns on her skin until goosebumps trail in their wake and a shiver runs through her body. She can feel that familiar light prickling start up under the skin wherever Josephine touches, and a new growing warmth beginning to pool in her abdomen.

When Josephine runs the barest hint of nail against her skin, Riayl can’t stifle a giggle at the tickling sensation; Josephine smiles and gives her a swift kiss on the cheek before her hands move even higher, tracing just below Riayl’s breastband and letting her fingertips slip under the cloth. _That_ has the elf inhaling sharply, the move pressing her breasts against the restricting fabric and not helping her situation whatsoever. She has never been touched like this before; she pulls back from Josephine’s fingers even as a light groan falls from her open mouth at the sensation, her hands rising to catch Josephine’s wrists before she can venture further.

At Josephine’s questioning look, her hands still under Riayl’s tunic and palms resting against her ribs, the elf blushes and bites her lip, eyes averted. “Josie, I’ve…I’ve never…”

Thank the Creators for Josephine’s power of intuition; she immediately grasps what the elf isn’t quite able to say. The diplomat draws her hands away, leaning forward to lightly kiss Riayl in the same movement. “Do you wish to stop?” The words are quiet when Josephine pulls back, unassuming and free of judgement.

Riayl shakes her head, keenly aware of the heat that has flared up low in her abdomen from their gentle touches. “No. No, I don’t. I just…I don’t know what to do.” She isn’t sure what she had expected Josephine’s reaction to be, but the slow-blooming smile that curves her lips roguishly is not it.

“Then let me teach you.”

Warm brown hands return to her tunic, but this time grasping the hem instead of slipping underneath; Josephine draws the garment up her body, the elf raising her arms slightly so it can be lifted over her head, leaving her in a breastband and breeches. Riayl watches as Josephine drops the tunic on the floor behind them to be taken care of at some later time; an uncharacteristic gesture, but she can understand the motivation when deft fingers slip under her breastband once more, slipping the binding cloth off her body to follow the tunic and baring her chest to the warm air.

She expects Josephine’s hands to immediately go to her breasts – they are tingling in anticipation – so it is a surprise when her lover gestures instead for her to lay back on the couch, Josephine shifting as she does, until she is resting against the arm of the sofa with Josephine still straddling her hips. She keeps her gaze fixed on Josephine’s, clear eyes meeting dark grey, unsure of what comes next.

That smile is still quirking Josephine’s lips as the Antivan leans down once more, her palms coming to rest on Riayl’s shoulders for support, and brushes gentle kisses across her chin, cheekbones, nose, until finally finding her mouth once more. This contact is longer, their lips parting and tongues meeting in a languid dance, and Riayl doesn’t even feel Josephine’s hands moving until after the Antivan draws back to whisper in her ear. “First, the breasts.”

 There are little patterns being traced onto the skin of her chest, following some design that Riayl can’t interpret, moving downwards until Josephine’s fingertips reach the valley between her breasts. Riayl feels goosebumps begin to spread over her skin as Josephine traces around and beneath the swells to caress the curves where they join once more with her torso; then, just as she becomes accustomed to the strange warmth of Josephine’s fingers against the bottoms of her breasts, those hands move to cup her, soft palms brushing against her nipples, the peaks hardening further at the contact.

Riayl whimpers, her own hands rising to tug at Josephine’s own breastband, letting out another soft noise when the movement pushes her chest further into Josephine’s palms. It takes a few seconds for her hands to coordinate and remove the cloth, pulling at the little buttons she can feel on Josephine’s back until the garment gives beneath her fingers. The sight that meets her eyes when the cloth finally falls away causes Riayl to suck in a breath; she has seen the breasts of others before, when bathing or patching up another hunter after an accident, but this is _different_. This is _Josephine_ , and she is almost afraid to touch the other woman, lest she make a mistake and cause her to leave. But, _this is Josephine_ , and so Riayl lets her hands reach for the Antivan’s chest, copying the movements her love has just shown her, cupping her breasts and letting her fingers brush over hard nipples – they _both_ inhale sharply at the sensation – as Josephine arches into the contact, eyes closing.

There is a moment’s pause before the diplomat opens her eyes again, meeting Riayl’s gaze with another mischievous grin, then Josephine’s hands are moving to grasp her own – Riayl lets out a whimper as the warmth disappears – as she slides backwards, lowering her mouth to Riayl’s once more, and suddenly the elf doesn’t miss Josephine’s hands anymore. There is softness pressing against her chest, a warm softness with tight points, and Riayl _moans_ – has that sound ever left her mouth before? – at the sensation of Josephine’s breasts brushing against hers, feels Josephine smile against her lips. “ _Josie._ ”

Her hands are released as Josephine’s lips leave her own, moving to trace across her jaw, along her neck, over her collarbone, and down the slope of her chest instead. Then there is hot breath against her skin, a soft open-mouth kiss pressed against the top of her breast as Josephine tilts her head slightly to look up at Riayl with dark, laughing, eyes. “Touching is pleasant, but the _mouth_ …”

Wet heat engulfs her breast and it feels _incredible_. Riayl lets out an involuntarily gasp, grasps at Josephine’s shoulders, her neck, buries her fingers in the Antivan’s still-bound hair as the tip of Josephine’s tongue flicks against her taut peak; tries to anchor herself as bolts of desire lance from her breast to her abdomen, the muscles of stomach fluttering at the pleasurable sensation.

“ _Jo~sie_ ,” escapes her lips again on a whine as she arches into the heat; Josephine releases her breast with one last swipe of her tongue over the hardened nipple – a whimper escapes Riayl as she tries to return her lover’s head to her chest – and smiles at the elf as her hand comes up to toy with her prize’s neglected counterpart.

“Yes, my love?” Her breath ghosts over Riayl’s still-wet skin, prompting another whimper. _Creators_ , she has never felt so needy, but Josephine is able to draw the sounds out of her with just a touch. Every brush of Josephine’s thumb against her nipple, the caress of moving air against her flesh, feels like paradise.

Josephine draws back completely, the warmth of her body disappearing from over Riayl’s, leaving her bereft. The elf reaches for her lover, but Josephine simply smiles again and extends her hand to catch Riayl’s. “I believe it is time we moved this lesson to the bed, yes?”

 _Oh Creators, there’s more._ What does ‘more’ feel like?

She wants to know.

Riayl slips off the couch easily and follows Josephine, the both of them naked from the waist up, to stand next to the bed. Josephine turns and draws her close, kissing her as their bodies press together from thigh to hip to breast; Riayl’s skin feels hyper-sensitive to the warm expanse of flesh pressed against her, hands coming up to brace herself on Josephine’s shoulders as her lips part and their kiss deepens. Her heart swells as she communicates her love to the Antivan through the contact and reads the same message in return, the emotion adding a new dimension to the passion already flowing through her body.

There is a light sensation around her waist, little brushes against the skin of her stomach as Josephine distracts her, words interspersed with gentle nips at her lips. “Your garments,” a loosening at her hips, “are so much simpler,” cloth sliding down her legs as gravity takes over, “than my own.” Her leggings pool around her ankles, Josephine’s hands sliding from her back, around her hips, to rest, palms down, against her abdomen. “I do believe I’m jealous.”

Riayl chuckles, bracing herself on Josephine’s shoulders as she steps out of the discarded clothing. “But then you wouldn’t look as mysterious, ma’arlath. The nobles would be so disillusioned.”

Her hands slip down from Josephine’s shoulders as she leans in for another kiss, enjoying the smooth skin of her lover’s back as it passes under her palms; she pauses when they reach Josephine’s waist, any further thoughts interrupted as the blaze of Josephine’s mouth moves to her neck and applies a light suction to her pulse point. She can’t help but arch into the sensation, hair brushing against her shoulders as her head tilts back to give Josephine better access, feeling her heartbeat pick up as she clutches tighter to Josephine’s waist.

Then Josephine’s hands are there too, disengaging their bodies as she clasps Riayl’s hands in her own and guiding Riayl to sit, then lay, on the bed, her Antivan beauty stretching out beside to her.

It’s not so different from their sleeping arrangements for the last few months, and yet it feels completely new; there was always cloth between them before, even when they were so entwined that she couldn’t tell where she ended and Josephine began. But now – now she is clad only in her smallclothes with Josephine topless beside her, a glorious expanse of bronze skin lit by the flickering flames of the hearth.

That heat low in her abdomen has yet to wane and, now that she is lying down without any other sensations to distract her, Riayl notices a flush, full, throbbing even lower, at the junction of her thighs. She has known for years what this sensation is, in theory; words didn’t do it justice.

She can’t resist the urge to feel Josephine’s skin under her fingers again, stronger even than that persistent throb, and her hand comes up to trace along Josephine’s forehead, down the bridge of her nose and over her lips, across her chin and up her jawline, until she feels the Antivan’s still-bound hair – now slightly askew from her previous exploration – against her fingers. “Your hair?” she murmurs, and Josephine’s hands rise to the chignon, brushing against Riayl’s fingers and guiding them to pick at the style deftly, extracting pins with familiar ease.

While Josephine leads her hands, Riayl’s eyes trace further down her love’s body; she follows the column of Josephine’s neck until it merges with the hollow of her collarbone, the slope of her chest into full breasts capped with dark peaks, the curve of her waist into the flair of her hip, still covered with cloth. Then there is the smooth skin of her stomach, muscles taut as Josephine finishes with her hair, releasing Riayl’s hands as the dark mass cascades onto the bed behind her.

Now that her hands are once more under her control, Riayl is free to indulge herself. She does so, startling a laugh from her lover as she rolls on top of Josephine to kiss her, feeling the other woman shake under her. Her hands rest on either side of Josephine’s head and she pushes against the bed with her knees, trying to lever herself up slightly; Josephine’s laugh cuts off abruptly on a moan when she does so, and Riayl realizes that her thigh has slipped between Josephine’s legs, is pressing against her core. She repeats the motion, pushing forward again, and feels wetness seeping through the cloth still covering Josephine’s sex to paint her skin as the Antivan’s hips buck beneath her, sliding against her thigh.

Josephine’s leg bends when she tries for more leverage, her own thigh rubbing against Riayl’s center through her smallclothes, and the world vanishes for a moment in the wave of _pleasure_ that swamps her. When she regains her bearings, it is to find that Josephine has flipped them so the diplomat is on top, hair falling over one shoulder to brush against Riayl’s chest, one hand already moving to replace her thigh.

The sensation of fingers pressing against her, even through the cloth, is enough to have Riayl whimpering for _more_. Her body is ablaze, flames of desire spreading from that single point of contact, and she arches into Josephine’s touch, begging for _something_ …

Suddenly there isn’t any cloth between them as Josephine pushes her smalls aside, and _everything she has felt before is nothing compared to this_.

“Josie, what are –” She can barely form the words, cuts herself off on a gasp as fingers part her wet folds, tracing down through liquid desire until they reach the part of her that _clenches_ at the contact; another hand is cupping her breast and tugging at her nipple, Josephine’s mouth is nibbling at the base of her throat and she _can’t breathe_ , there are so many sensations, one of those questing fingers moves up and brushes over something that makes her whole body _jerk_ and _writhe_ and her vision is diming as _pleasure_ hums through her body and it’s _too much_ , she _can’t_ –

Riayl gasps for breath as she pulls away from Josephine, trying to roll onto her side and close her thighs, trying to understand the echoes that promise she could have had _more_. Her eyes open – when had they shut? – to see her love smiling down at her, tenderness in her eyes. “Josephine?”

That same hand comes up to stroke gently across her cheek as Josephine leans in to give her another kiss, this one banking the burning desire still coursing through her body until it no longer clouds her mind. “Soon, love. Soon.”

She focuses on the words as Josephine sits up, shivers a little at the departure of her lover’s warmth. “Josie, what was that?” She lifts her hips as Josephine tugs at her smallclothes, drawing the wet fabric down her legs; the Antivan moves away to shuck her own remaining garments before laying on her side next to Riayl once more, facing the elf with a small smile quirking her lips, head propped against one forearm.

“That, my darling, was the second part of your lesson.” Josephine stretches languidly, aware of Riayl’s eyes following the line of her body. “Now, shall we see what you have learned?”

Riayl isn’t a total innocent; she has heard others speak of their sexual exploits and encounters over the course of her life, but without any experience of her own, she has never been able to put them in context. One term that had especially confused her was when people spoke of ‘tasting’ their partner. She had never understood why someone would _want_ to do so. Now, though…

Now, as her eyes devour Josephine’s nude form, as she smells her love’s arousal on the air, a different scent than that of her skin, Riayl wants to know what she tastes like. She _needs_ to.

The elf pushes against Josephine’s shoulder, urging her lover to turn onto her back, and Josephine does so, mild curiosity in her gaze. That curiosity sharpens when Riayl moves down the bed to kneel at Josephine’s hip and her hands come to rest on the Antivan’s thighs. She takes a bracing breath – that intoxicating scent is stronger, here – and gently pushes Josephine’s thighs apart, shifting to settle between them and examine the new sight before her.

There is a mound of tight, dark, curls at the apex of Josephine’s thighs, continuing down to frame a pink, glistening, wetness – is that what she herself looks like? Riayl wonders – that seems so unfamiliar.

She doesn’t realize she has spoken aloud until Josephine gives a light laugh. “I would imagine so.” Embarrassed, Riayl looks up the line of her lover’s body to meet dark eyes, a smile quirking Josephine’s full lips. “I am at your mercy, my love. Take your time.”

Well, then.

Riayl turns her attention back to the sight before her and tentatively places her finger at the top of Josephine’s slit, where the inner pair of lips join; it is immediately covered with that slightly thick wetness, and she drags downwards, feeling Josephine’s muscles twitching under the pad of her finger as it travels. There is a ring of muscle towards the bottom, one she has only known before as the channel of bleeding, and her finger dips into the entrance slightly before she pulls away, earning a groan from her lover. A glistening string connects her finger to Josephine for just a moment before it snaps, and Riayl is left even more curious as to its composition and consistency. It will require further examination.

The elf brings her finger to her mouth, is about to touch it to her tongue, before having another thought: she inhales instead, imprinting the scent forever into her mind, not that she believes she could _ever_ forget; a low moan draws her attention away from her finger, shifting her focus to see Josephine gazing at her with dark, desirous, eyes.

Without breaking eye-contact, Riayl lets her tongue flick out, tasting her lover’s essence for the first time as Josephine watches; the Antivan moans again, her legs spreading further and hips tilting up in clear invitation. She should probably feel embarrassed at what she is doing, at what she is witnessing, but the only emotions surging through her body are a hunger for Josephine and a desire for _more_.

Riayl accepts the invitation, moving until she lays on the bed, her every exhalation brushing over Josephine’s glistening folds as she surveys her options, trying to decide where to explore first. Apparently the sensation of her breath is teasing enough, because Josephine whines “ _Riayl_ ,” and hands traverse her cheeks, her ears, in an attempt to grab the back of her head and pull her closer, but the elf resists. She wants to savor the moment.

“Stop teasing, _please_.” How is she supposed to resist that note of pleading in the Antivan’s voice?

A smirk of her own pulls at the corner of Riayl’s lips. “As you wish.”

Her fingers brush against the soft skin of Josephine’s inner thighs, travel up until they can part flushed inner lips, examine the fold of skin at the apex of their joining. Josephine _groans_ when she touches the flesh lightly, so she does it again, pulling up on the hood to reveal a round, glistening, nub that seems to swell under her gaze; Riayl earns a choked gasp when she sweeps her tongue across it, and she files the reaction away with a smirk as she lets the skin drop once more to protect its prize.

She traces lower, skimming across thickening wetness until she circles the muscles she had previously ignored. One finger presses against the ring experimentally; Josephine’s soft whimper and the way her hips push forward are good indicators that she is doing well, so Riayl lets her finger slip in further to feel silken _heat_ and wonderful _tightness_ and _why hasn’t she done this before now?_

Riayl is so lost in her appreciation of this new treasure that she almost doesn’t hear Josephine speak.

“I, I don’t think –” her lover can barely get the words out around a moan as Riayl experimentally curls her finger upwards, “that you need –” another whimper as Riayl’s mouth returns to that swollen nub, tongue skimming across it gently, “much more instruction, my love, _oh_ –”

She feels ridged walls clench around her finger as she applies a light suction to Josephine’s apex, pushes even deeper in response and feels Josephine’s muscles _tremble_ , and draws back to grin at her lover. “So I’m doing well then?”

Josephine’s eyes darken even further and she reaches down to grasp Riayl’s shoulders, trying to draw the elf away and up her body; Riayl gives her prize one last pull, which earns her a stifled gasp and those hands clenching tight on her shoulders, before following the tugs until she leans over Josephine, one finger still buried inside her love. The Antivan wraps her arms around Riayl’s neck, pulling her lover against her for a brief kiss before she breaks it with a smile. “Yes, Riayl. But please, _more_.”

The feral glint in Josephine’s eyes causes the low throb of desire in her abdomen to being pulsing once more, and Riayl swallows hard. “More?”

“Yes, _more_.”

Then the world is flipping, and when it stops she is under Josephine once more, her love straddling her hips as she tugs at Riayl’s hand where it is still nestled between her legs. “ _Please_.” The unexpected movement causes her fingers to twitch and curl, a second digit accidentally pressing against Josephine’s entrance; when her lover arches her back and gasps “ _Yes_ ,” Riayl finally understands.

She slides that second finger into Josephine, unable to stifle a groan of her own at how tight her love is, how _wet_ she is.

“Curl your fingers.” The instruction invades her hazy consciousness, her hand obeying even before her mind catches up. There are ridges pressing against her fingertips, giving under her pressure, and Josephine lets out a gasp as her hips pump forward. “Again, _please_.”

She does so, delighting in the way her love’s muscles clench around her fingers like a vice; when she pumps her hand experimentally, Josephine falls forward, barely catching and bracing herself against Riayl’s chest as she _shudders_ and Riayl feels a surge of wetness trickle into her palm. Josephine’s hips begin to move continuously, rocking against Riayl’s hand; the rhythm presses her apex against the base of the elf’s thumb and Josephine’s choked shout is music to her ears. So _this_ is what it’s all about.

Riayl rears up, shifting Josephine until her lover is on her knees, straddling her legs, her lips meeting Josephine’s open-mouthed gasps and feeling her lover’s panted breaths against her skin as Josephine’s hips rock against her hand. One of Josephine’s hands grasps her free arm by the wrist, bringing the appendage up so her palm cradles one full breast, thumb settling across the taut nipple, kneading the pliant flesh as she feels Josephine’s moan vibrate in her chest. There are heated stirrings in her own core, a renewed ache for _something_ , and she shifts under Josephine’s in an unconscious pattern, searching for relief but finding nothing.

Her lover’s hips start moving faster, faster, Riayl’s fingers sliding into and against wet flesh as Josephine arches backwards, her breath coming in short gasps; she remembers Josephine’s demands of _more_ , so she lets a third finger uncurl and slip into her love and it is obviously the right move because the vice around her fingers clenches so tightly she can’t move her fingers at _all_. Riayl lets out a groan of her own at the sensation, wanting, _needing_ to know what it feels like because her core is clenching around emptiness as she rocks under Josephine, searching for something, something –

“Don’t…fight it…” The gasped words are the only warning Riayl gets before Josephine’s hand descends, slips between their bodies, then there are two fingers pushing inside her and she feels _so full_ as Josephine’s thumb brushes against that nub she had found before and it’s _too much_. Jolts of electricity are spiraling out through her limbs, her fingers are spasming inside Josephine and it’s enough to push her lover over the edge with her – that _must_ be what’s happening to her, because she can’t catch her breath, can’t think of anything past the pleasure fogging her brain – and then there is _bliss_.

Her love collapses against her, the weight enough to send them both falling back onto the bed as they shudder together, Josephine pressing open-mouthed kisses against her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her lips; it takes a concentrated effort to convince her free arm to come up and over Josephine and hug her lover – lover in truth, now – against her, a warm expanse of skin and body that is comforting in its weight.

There is quiet between them for a few minutes, both content to catch their breath as muscles unclench and bodies stop shuddering. Riayl feels Josephine’s fingers slip out of her and whimpers at the loss of that glorious full feeling – Josephine does the same when she removes her own – and she rolls to her side so Josephine is settled against her instead, their limbs still entwined.

Finally, Josephine raises her head from where it has nestled into the curve of Riayl’s neck, pressing a tender kiss to the elf’s forehead. “Thank you love.”

Riayl’s hand comes up to stroke through Josephine’s unbound hair, feeling the loose strands fall over her fingers. “So that’s what it’s about, hm?”

A chuckle causes Josephine to vibrate against her. “Yes, my darling.”

Riayl hums thoughtfully, tightening her arm around Josephine as she nuzzles against Josephine’s shoulder, taking in the unique scent of her love and reveling in the warmth and sensation of skin against skin. “I wouldn’t be adverse to, mm...more practice, later. Ma vhenan’ara.” She grins against Josephine’s skin, feels her lover chuckle once more as she wraps her own arm around the elf.

“Nor would I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Third time's the charm right?  
> I am still learning this whole 'smut-writing-thing' though, so if there's anything I can improve on please please let me know.
> 
> Edit: I added/changed some things. I think I'm happier with it now!


End file.
